


Victory Lap

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Prompto could celebrate the victory within the Niff encampment with all his surly relatives or he could sneak over to the Lucian camp and see how the 'savages' mark a triumph. Turns out, the Lucians really know how to party.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 19
Kudos: 236





	Victory Lap

**Author's Note:**

> Not many fics this week. I'm working on some longer or 2 part fics so while I work to finish those I couldn't produce many little one shots like I usually do.

It’s rare that the armies of Eos fight together. Today however both Lucius and Niflheim have come together to defend Tenebrae from a massive daemon.

Prompto is the bastard son of a high-ranking Niff lord. Important enough to be in the officer’s camp but not precious enough to be saved the tribulation of the actual battlefield. The officer’s camp is busy tonight. While their battered MTs stand in the elements, waiting for retrieval in the morning, the human portion of the deployment are cloistered in their tents drinking and smoking. Prompto could drink with them but Niff celebrations are always coloured by strict rules of propriety and when you’re related to everyone in attendance through an unsavoury technicality it’s like a horrible family function.

The Tenebrasians will spend the next twelve hours locked in unending prayer to honour their dead so there’s no fun to be had there either.

The Lucians however…

Prompto can hear their encampment over the fields between them. It sounds uproarious over there. Prompto’s heard a million stories about Lucians. They’re barbarians, they’re polygamists, they’re homosexuals, sorcerers, savages… But, whatever the case, they sound like they’re actually _celebrating_.

Prompto creeps away from the Niff camp unarmed. He doesn’t want the Lucians to think he’s come to cause trouble. He just wants to see what all the fuss is about.

He is _not_ disappointed.

When Prompto reaches the edge of their encampment he finds the Lucians have erected several massive bonfires. There’s liquor, thick bombastic music, and the Lucians seem to be dancing in various states of undress. At least, Prompto _assumes_ it’s dancing. Some of the motions Prompto recognizes from traditional Lucian displays, their famous war dances, that sort of thing, but there’s obviously some improvisation and the way they move…

Prompto can’t tell if a full-scale brawl or an orgy is about to break out.

Prompto finds, to his amazement, he recognizes the Lucian Prince at the nearest fire. He’s dancing with his men, all the same, in nothing but his boots and pants. His bare back exposing an electric network of white scars across his skin.

A man, rippling with muscle, fearlessly lifts the Prince up and slender legs wrap curl around his broad abs. They heave, singing the victory chant, and the Prince cups the man’s cheeks as he presses their foreheads together. Prompto’s never understood the difference between Crownsguard and Kingsglaive but he knows only the Shield of the King has such a massive tattoo so that sort of explains the exchange. Surely only a Shield could be so casual with his Prince, even in the savage nation of Lucius?

The Shield puts his Prince back on the grass, naturally moving through the writhing dance, and Prompto watches as more warriors close the gap. A female Lucian, wearing her bra and combat pants, pulls the Shield away into a warrior’s display where they growl at each other like animals. Meanwhile a male Glaive, head shaved down the sides, braids rippling, hefts the Prince onto his back with another impressive show of unflinching strength. The Prince is handed a cup to tip back a generous portion of what is likely Tenebrasian ale or whatever the Lucians could get their hands on. 

Prompto is frozen, awe struck. It looks wild, yes, like something out of another time but it also looks _fun_.

Prompto has to get in on that.

Gathering his courage Prompto pushes out of the tree line towards the bonfire. A warrior spots him, nudging his companion, and very quickly Prompto finds a lot of sharp eyes trained upon him. 

Someone tells the drummers to stop and the chanting trails off in a ripple.

The braided Glaive puts the Prince down and as Prompto walks towards the bonfire the crowd parts. The Prince meets him before the fire, hand on his hip.

“What do you want Niff?” He asks in accented Niffian.

“You seem to be the only ones properly celebrating,” Prompto laughs in his equally accented Lucian, trying to remain calm. These guys could really fuck him up.

“You’re the Besithia bastard, yes?” The Prince supposes.

“That’s one way to put it,” Prompto shrugs.

“You fought bravely today.” The Prince declares. “I saw you. Eyes of a hawk.”

Prompto laughs, pawing sheepishly at the back of his neck.

“Every warrior who fights beside me is entitled to celebrate beside me.” The Prince informs Prompto. “Lose the shirt and get a drink.”

Prompto beams, grabbing them of his tunic to rip it over his head.

“Where are those drums?” The Prince hollers. “It’s quiet as a grave here! Are you dead men?”

The Glaive woot and cheer, collectively hollering back a phrase Prompto doesn’t recognize but which he thinks loosely translates to ‘ _There’s no ale in Hell!_ ’. The Prince cheers, raising his cup, and the music sizzles back to life, the chanting of the dancers redoubled.

Prompto is just starting to stomp his feet, finding his rhythm, when the braided Glaive grabs his wrist and hauls him close. Prompto yelps, startled, but the Glaive seems to only want to heft Prompto off his feet and swirl him around. Prompto laughs delightedly, throwing his head back, and the Glaive roars a cheer at him. It’s another traditional Lucian war phrase and Prompto doesn’t totally trust his translation but it sounds like; ‘ _Last man standing gets to fuck all the losers!_ ’

Prompto hacks, laughing so hard he can’t see straight, and he’s still laughing when the Glaive puts him back on his feet.

These guys are great!

This is way better than the officer’s tent.

Prompto works up a sweat, pounding his already sore feet, but he feels good.

When a bespectacled warrior presses a cup of ale into Prompto’s hand Prompto starts to understand why the Lucians are homosexuals; they’re all so attractive! If Prompto’s fellow country men were all so attractive he’d fuck them all too!

Prompto draining the last dregs of his ale when the Prince himself grabs him and hauls him close. Prompto doesn’t want to insult the Lucian accidentally but the Prince leads and directs his hands to where its safe wordlessly.

“How much trouble are you going to be in tomorrow?” The Prince asks when they’re chest to chest.

“So much!” Prompto laughs.

“Worth it?” The Prince supposes.

“ _Absolutely!_ ”

Prompto’s father will be humiliated, Prompto’s commanding officer will be furious, but for tonight? Prompto has zero regrets. He’d much rather be here than back in his camp. He doesn’t feel any different from the Glaive. Maybe they’re treating him differently but the whole thing is so foreign he feels plenty accepted. For a bastard? That’s a hard feeling to come by in Niflheim.

* * *

Prompto is a flushed, aching, mess when the Prince gathers up his hand and tugs him away from the bonfire towards the warmth of the royal tent. The Prince’s tent is grander and cleaner than anything Prompto’s been sleeping in the past few days. Prompto is vaguely aware of the Prince’s Shield following them but he expects that. He’s a foreigner. He can’t be left alone, truly alone, with the heir apparent to the throne.

Prompto is also vaguely aware of the Prince’s intentions but he’s tipsy from the ale, blood simmering, and the idea doesn’t sound so wicked at this time of night.

Prompto’s kissed a handful of girls, made love to one, so he’s not exactly a stud. He knows men in Niflheim do fall into this kind of proclivity but none of them would ever dare admit it out loud. Prompto could very likely bring shame to his father’s house with this but… well, let’s be honest, when else is he going to be invited into the bed of a royal?

Prince Noctis pushes and manhandles Prompto into the nest of pelts and pillows his servants have amassed for him. The Prince sprawls over Prompto, pressing him down, and with a supreme, practised, ease the Prince locks their mouths together.

Prompto squirms, hands looking for something to grasp. Like he said he’s kissed a handful of girls but none of them have ever kissed him with such wanton desire. They were cautious, bashful, but Prince Noctis kisses Prompto like he’s starving for him, like he intends to devour him. It’s wicked and hot and Prompto’s hands can’t seem to find a hold that doesn’t roughly remind him Prince Noctis is every bit a man. His strong shoulders, his pointed hips, those tense arms…

Prompto’s never done this but he can’t pretend he doesn’t like it. It’s strange, yes, but it doesn’t feel as wrong as he’s always been told it would.

Prince Noctis mouths down his jaw and neck, teeth scraping at the junction of his shoulder, and he sucks bruises into Prompto’s skin that make the Niff shudder. Prompto knows he’s moaning but he can’t think of a reason to stop. He’s been taught men are supposed to be dominant his whole life but in forcing him down and groping him the Prince is scratching this deep itch Prompto wasn’t even aware he had.

Prompto arches his hips, squirming, and Prince Noctis grinds down into him. He can feel the Prince’s hard cock and his hands drag down the Lucian’s scarred back messily. Prince Noctis undulates his hips, rubbing them together, and Prompto tugs his face back. He’s surprised at how much he wants to feel that intense kiss again but it seems only natural when the Prince forces his tongue into Prompto’s mouth.

God, Noctis smells like…

Ugh, it’s such a wild, male, scent it makes Prompto helpless.

Sitting back Prince Noctis unbuckles Prompto’s pants and Prompto would consider his submission were the Prince not strong enough to lift his hips and tug the pants down himself without Prompto’s explicit assistance. Prompto flushes hotter, knowing he shouldn’t be aroused by that and knowing now it’s too late to back out.

The Prince pulls them against each other on their sides. He pulls Prompto’s leg up, around his hips, and encourages the Niff to rut against his covered crotch. Prompto wants to say he knows where this is going but they don’t exactly cover the specifics of ‘ _sinful’_ homosexual intercourse back home.

There’s a shimmer, the Prince accessing his armiger, and Prompto panics for a moment Prince Noctis is going to pull a weapon on him but then slick, sticky, fingers slide over Prompto’s ass and dip between his legs and—

Prompto can’t really describe the sound he makes. It’s not pained, just surprised. The Prince doesn’t penetrate him immediately. He just rubs his slick fingers against Prompto’s hole while their hips grind together. Honestly the stimulation at Prompto’s entrance feels good in a wicked way. Prompto’s even starting to rock into the rubbing when Noctis eases a finger inside him.

Prompto moans, eyes fluttering shut, and Prince Noctis kisses his sweaty forehead, whispering smugly;

“You take to this easily.”

Prompto should be insulted. In Niflheim that would be an insult. But it seems less like one when the man delivering it is rock hard and prepping Prompto for his cock.

Prompto surprises himself with how quickly he adjusts. Prince Noctis is right; he really is a natural. He can’t help it. It feels good to rub his cock against the Prince’s stomach while fingers fill him and spread him ever wider open. The stretch is unlike anything Prompto’s ever felt and he loves it.

Evidently deciding he’s ready Prince Noctis rearranges them. He puts Prompto on his knees, cheek pressed into the blankets, ass up like a bitch in heat and it should be demeaning but, oh gods, when Noctis audibly unbuckles his pants…

Prompto moans, eyes slipping shut again, feeling the slippery head of Noctis’ cock pressing against his teased hole. Fuck, if fingers felt that good then…?

Noctis is slick and he rubs himself between the cheeks of Prompto’s ass, gripping the blonde’s hips, before Prompto starts to whine. Half of its nerves but there’s a heady portion of desire and that seems to amuse the Prince because he chuckles as he lines up.

Prompto gasps, spine tightening. Noctis’ cock is a lot bigger than his fingers. The Prince strokes his hips, pushing into him slowly, slowly…

“Relax,” Noctis encourages, “you’ll adjust sooner if you stop fighting it.”

So Prompto scrunches his eyes shut and curling his fingers in the blankets takes a deep breath. On his exhale he leans back into the Prince, trying to open up, and more of Noctis’ cock pushes inside him. In another slow, tense, moment the Prince is fully sheathed.

“Touch your cock,” Noctis urges, hips rolling. “I’ll be gentle.”

Prompto groans and slips a hand between his legs. He doesn’t think _‘gentle_ ’ is possible right now. Prompto has never, ever, felt so full or so _fucked_. For a second he’s not sure he likes it but then his hand is pumping his shaft in tandem with Noctis’ thick, rolling, thrusts into him and it’s the most incredible thing Prompto’s ever experienced.

Prompto moans desperately. He didn’t know he needed this but now he never, ever, wants to stop. Gods, he’d do this every day if he could get away with it. No wonder the men in Lucius seem so much happier. 

Prince Noctis holds his hips tight, fucking him harder and faster. Prompto surrenders totally, pushing back, savouring the feeling of Noctis rubbing inside him, filling him…

“You sure Niffs don’t do this?” Prompto hears another man rumble in Lucian. The Prince’s Shield. “Because your toy seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself on your cock.”

Prompto can’t help it; he moans louder.

Prince Noctis laughs, smug, and pounds into his wet hole.

“Even the Niffs have cock-sleeves.” Prince Noctis smirks, never once stopping. “Evidently this one’s not been getting enough attention. Easily remedied.”

Prompto buries his face but rocks back into the Prince eagerly. Fuck, fuck—

“Oh? Do you like us talking about you like you’re not even here?” Noctis laughs, rearranging Prompto’s guts hard and heavy.

Prompto can’t deny it but he can’t form words either.

“Please, fuck…” Prompto garbles desperately.

“Want do you want, baby?” Noctis supposes indulgently.

“Gods, fuck, I don’t know…” Prompto admits.

“It’s a whole new feeling when you cum around someone’s cock, while they’re fucking you,” Noctis tells him. “You’ll love it.”

“Oh god, yes, please…” Prompto strokes himself with a renewed, breathless, intensity.

“I’m going to cum inside you,” Noctis pants, “you’re going to be able to _feel it_.”

Somehow that idea, that concept—

Prompto wails, moaning brokenly. Prince Noctis slams into him at that moment, like an animal, and holds him fiercely so he can’t shirk away. The Prince was right; there’s something incredible and overwhelming about cuming around another man’s cock. Prompto can feel his whole body pulsating and, with a rough jerk of his hips, Noctis breaks into his own moan and—

Oh god Prompto _can_ feel it bubbling up inside him…

Prompto’s pretty sure he spasms again just from that realization, whole body lurching, hips arching back to try and take it all. Loving it. He’s helpless and wanton and, oh god, it feels hot and wrong and amazing to feel the Prince’s cum sloshing inside him.

“That’s it,” Noctis purrs, rocking his hips to wring out the last of his orgasm. “ _Fuck_ …”

Prompto is boneless, slumping onto his belly, as the Prince pulls out of him and collapses beside him in the nest.

Prince Noctis sighs, sated, and when the Shield tosses something their way Prompto finds he would startle if he weren’t so spent. Prince Noctis catches the vial and, eye closed, crushes it in between his fingers.

Prompto blinks dazedly.

“Here,” the Prince hands him one, “take it.”

“I don’t…?” They don’t have potions back in Niflheim. Prompto doesn’t understand.

Prince Noctis wraps his limp hand around the vial and encourages him to crush it. It doesn’t hurt. It just tingles.

“Precaution,” Noctis explains. “To avoid infections and disease.”

“You could just wear a condom…?” Prompto tries to fathom. Do they just not bother in Lucius?

“Didn’t have any,” the Prince shrugs.

“Oh,” Prompto computes.

“You have three options, sweet Niff,” Noctis tells him. “You can stay here, with me, you can return to your encampment, or you can let my Shield fuck you next.”

“Oh god…” Prompto shivers. “Fuck, I don’t think I could go again…” As much as part of him wants to.

“Then stay,” the Prince invites, rolling onto his side and tossing his arm around Prompto’s middle.

“Would be my pleasure,” Prompto sighs, nestling a little closer.

* * *

In the morning Prompto arrives back at camp to find MTs already searching for him. General Caligo is furious to see Prompto unharmed. Prompto’s got his boots, his pants, but his tunic was lost to the grasses of the fields last night and in such a state Caligo demands an explanation.

Prompto admits, lazily, that he was drinking with the Lucians. He neglects to mention their handsome, fuckable, Prince but it’s still enough to see him riding home to Niflheim in the cargo hold with the MTs.

Loqi, Prompto’s cousin, hears the story through the gossip grapevine and when they land home immediately starts pestering Prompto for details.

“What was it like?” Loqi demands, mystified.

“Amazing,” Prompto wheezes.

“What on Eos possessed you to do that?” Loqi tries to fathom. “They might’ve eaten you or something! They’re _savages!_ ”

“They certainly know how to throw a party,” Prompto laughs.

“You’re insane,” Loqi shakes his head.

Prompto shrugs.

He thinks about the Prince, about those wild feelings, frequently in the coming months. He wouldn’t dare seek out a male lover in Niflheim but many, many, nights he touches himself to fantasies of the Prince.

Prompto is brought, as an officer, to a diplomatic delegation in Altissia a few months later. He’s not expecting to be greeted, personally, by King Regis but he’s very welcoming when he realizes what’s happening.

“My son has some stories of you, Lord Besithia,” the King recounts, shaking Prompto’s hand with warmth and fondness. Like Prompto isn’t a bastard. “You made quite the impression on him.”

“I should be so lucky, your Majesty.” Prompto grins.

“The Prince is interested in marrying you,” King Regis reveals. “Would that be of interest to you also?”

“I—Doesn’t his Highness require an heir, Majesty?” Prompto hesitates.

“In Lucius a king can keep as many wedded partners as he can provide for.” King Regis shrugs nonchalantly. “We will find him a wife, eventually, for now he longs for your company.”

“Well…” Prompto laughs, a little bamboozled. “If it would not inconvenience him, Majesty, I would be honoured.”

King Regis grins at Prompto with a kind of knowing understanding. Prompto’s not sure how much the King does know but he’s sure they both understand not a lot of Niffs would call themselves _‘honoured’_ to be propositioned by a Lucian, royal or otherwise. Prompto’s father, yet again, will be humiliated by this but Prompto can’t find it in him to care.

“I will speak to your father myself,” King Regis squeezes Prompto’s hand. “You should ready yourself to return with our delegation to Lucius. It is not our practice to have long engagements. I will be delighted to make you kin of my clan, Prompto.”

Prompto beams.

Honestly? He suspects he’ll do better in Lucius. Obviously he’s got a little savage in his bones.


End file.
